


It's OK if it's With a Ghost, Right?

by Hatsage7



Series: Pyre: Getting Off Easy [1]
Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Other, they're non-binary but reader still has a dick just a heads-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsage7/pseuds/Hatsage7
Summary: The Reader comes to a sudden and profound realization. Sandra helps them deal with it. And it's not *technically* what it looks like, because she's a ghost.





	It's OK if it's With a Ghost, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> listen, listen. i'm just a sucker for "technically, it's not sex if we ______" tropes where both parties refuse to admit what it actually is  
> anyway, i would *highly* recommend playing Pyre, it's a fun game with great writing  
> i'd... like for the Reader's gender to be open to interpretation, and i'll try to use "they" pronouns throughout, BUT they do have a penis and i am a cis man author so they may come across more like a cis man than anything else -- big sorry, you're still valid
> 
> ("haha, cute relationship, nice one-off!"  
> joke's on you motherfucker, i got so many more of these, you don't even know)

 

            It hadn’t been a problem for you at first.

            It just barely showed itself when Hedwyn and Jodarial removed their masks while saving you from the ravages of the Downside. Of course, you were professional enough (read: terrified enough) not to let it show, and to be honest, meeting new people and essentially being given a task from the Scribes themselves made the issue very easy to ignore.

            It was slightly more pronounced upon meeting Tariq and Sandra in turn, once you had gotten more comfortable and life didn’t feel like a constant struggle to survive. You were fairly at ease, with much less to distract you from your own feelings. In their case, their less friendly demeanors and… vaguely magical natures? Made compartmentalizing simple enough.

 

            Then you met Pamitha.

 

            Pamitha the Harp, with red feathers and piercing blue eyes.

            Pamitha who asked you to “gaze intently all you like” the first time you met.

            Pamitha who called you “darling” in that unBELIEvable accent.

            It was Pamitha who made you realize…

 

            You hadn’t gotten off in months.

            Fuck.

 

            It wasn’t even that Pamitha flirted with you particularly often -- nor particularly lewdly, nor even genuinely -- it just reminded you that you were, in fact, alone on the road with a number of very attractive people.

 

            And you did not have a Scribes-damned moment to yourself to deal with it; there was always at least one other Nightwing in the Blackwagon (to say nothing of all the drive imps).

 

            Today it was Tariq, practicing on his lute as you studied the Book of Rites. Normally, it might be somewhat distracting but you weren’t _really_ getting that much studying done anyway. None of your study sessions lately had been very productive, and this time there was an additional distraction as well. Your eyes kept flicking to the Beyonder Crystal -- a green sphere containing the spirits of several ghosts that was pulsing with light.

 

            In fact, the Crystal had been glowing a lot lately.  It normally only glowed this intensely while you were speaking with the wraith inside, Sandra. Did _she_ have something to say to you for a change?

 

            You took a break from failing to decipher the mysteries of the Downside to talk to the ghost, taking the Crystal gingerly in your hands and whispering, “Sandra”.

 

            Just as you finished speaking, the world around you was tinted yellow-green and a masked figure in the raiments of a triumvirate -- all in your mind, clear as a memory but invisible to others.

Instead of removing her mask, as per usual, the wraith raises it’s arm with palm upright.

            “A moment, Reader,” the specter says in a voice that is definitely Sandra’s. “I would ask total privacy for this following conversation. Instruct the minstrel on my behalf to remain some distance from the door and ward off any who would enter.” She pauses. “A… proverbial do not disturb sign.”

 

            You flush at the implication, with absolutely no idea what Sandra is suggesting but feeling fairly embarrassed nonetheless. While continuing to stare at the Crystal, knowing full well that he’s been side-eyeing your reactions ever since you spoke, you address Tariq. “Ah, Tariq? Sandra… wants some privacy for a while. Could you do me a favor and briefly head outside? A-and keep the others from coming in, too?”

            Tariq grins his typical, satisfied, simultaneously arrogant and acquiescent grin from the other corner of the wagon. “Not a favor, but a pleasure, friend Reader. One I may ask of you in turn,” he said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, smoothly getting off of the floor and placing his hat on his head in a single motion. The door closed behind him to leave a pregnant silence in the Blackwagon.

 

            You returned back to the Crystal and its Beyonder wraith, murmuring “And a good afternoon to you too, Sandra. Can I ask _what_ this is?”

            She slowly unclasps her mask to tuck it under one arm -- and surprisingly, she also undoes her usual large bun. Dark black hair falls past the nape of her neck, pooling in the hood of her robes like --

 _Focus,_ you chastise yourself. _Her being blind doesn’t make it any less impolite to_ _stare._

            “I’ve noticed,” Sandra said loudly, helping you properly focus, “that you’ve been somewhat distracted, lovely Reader. It’s somewhat apparent.”

            “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re implying? The last two Rites against the Essence and the Pyre-hearts --”

            “Went flawlessly? Oh, Reader.” Sandra smiles in her particular way, that rueful smirk that goes with her closed eyes to give the impression of constant annoyance. “I know you’ll always triumph over fools and weaklings, of that I have no doubt. I am more concerned about the final triumvirate to be faced, who are surely neither. I cannot -- and you know more than I, perhaps -- but I cannot imagine that you can beat them as you are now. Even in a week’s time, in your condition…”

            “Sanda, WHAT are you talking about,” you interject, running a hand down your face. “What _condition_?”

 

            “...lovely Reader, are you aware that every time we have spoken in the past two days, you have… briefly entertained romantic notions involving either the Demon or the Harp?”

            “W. What.”

            “Oh, I don’t mean that I read your mind -- that’s far outside of my paltry skillset.” Sandra moved closer to the chair you were sitting in and leaned in conspiratorially… speaking in a much lower voice. “However, when you use the Crystal, you and I do become somewhat... intertwined?”

            “Sandra, what on --”

            “Well it’s all your fault, if you must know.” She waggled her fingers with as much sarcasm as such a gesture could have, with another rueful smile. “Your empathic powers flow through me as a conduit to Read for my own Beyonders. In being so privileged, I can only determine that you are very frustrated.” The smile turned into a baring of teeth. “Am I off-base at all, Reader?”

            You swallow hard and pinch the bridge of your nose. “...is it… JUST Jodarial and Pamitha.”

 

            “Ohohoho… why, Reader, is there someone else you find yourself _fantasizing_ about?”

            Long hair let down. Incredibly sarcastic smile. Leaning over you and the way she said “fantasizing”.

 

            “At least one other -- certainly comes to mind right now.”

 

            “My, you are quite distracted. It’s a wonder you get anything done at all!”

            You shift self-consciously in your seat. “Um, Sandra, if you just wanted to joke about my crushes, I’d really rather -- ”

            “No, no of course not. I meant only to fulfill my duty. It’s my job to aid any and all triumvirates… ~lovely~ Reader.”

            The term of endearment took on a sickeningly sweet tone, so utterly alien to how Sandra typically acted that you nearly bolted from your chair right there and then. As it was, you only managed to grip the wooden arms in apprehension before Sandra dropped to her knees and put her hand on your lap.

            More accurately, through your lap.

            “Distracted, unfocused, tense. I feel that I should at the very least give you the opportunity to ease your burdens. And if you would prefer solitude or additional… assistance, I would be honored to oblige.”

            As she spoke, Sandra was moving and swirling her fingers, the cold from her spectral nature seeping into your body. Not a freezing chill, not even unpleasant, the feeling of a cool autumn breeze. And when she found your growing arousal through the fabric of your pants -- no, it wasn’t unpleasant at all.

 

            “For someone claiming to, mmh, to be helping me focus, you’re being very distracting right now.”

            “Ahehehe, but Reader, I’m not even _touching_ you~.” 

            Scribes, you practically melted at that. You bit down on your finger to keep a needy whine from escaping. She smirked anyways.

            “I really do just want you to enjoy yourself. To be centered and focused and ready for what will be a taxing undertaking. If you ask me to stop at any moment, I shall.” She shifted around your somewhat, her arm just inches from yours. “But, ah, you will have to do most of the _heavy lifting_ for me.”

            You undid the string around your trousers, then paused. “Sandra…”

            “It’s alright, lovely Reader. This is all your doing, it doesn’t even count as -- well, it’s not quite what it looks like.”

            And that was all the prompting you needed. You finally took your erection out of your pants and began stroking it in time with Sandra. It felt… quite nice to have her near, the feeling of her insubstantial fingers soothing your member. 

 

            “Scribes, Reader, you must have been _aching_ to do this.” She moved her hand faster, and you had no choice but to follow. “So desperate, so _vulnerable_ \-- I must admit, it's starting to make me feel weak in the knees.”

            You weren't quite sure what to expect at the start, but WOW was the pillow talk doing a lot to you. “F-fuck, Sandra, that's good.” You ran your other hand through your hair as your breath caught in your throat. “Scribes, but if you were here…”

 

            Sandra leaned quite literally into your shoulder and whispered in your ear with unmistakable eagerness. “Yes, darling? Exactly what would you do with me?”

            “I’d pin you against the wall and just hold you. I’d run my hands and fingers over your body, your shoulders, your stomach, your arms and legs, _Scribes_ , your incredible hair, Sandra, you’re so _pretty_ when you wear it down like th-THIS!” Your voice shot upwards at the end, unable to control yourself as Sandra’s hand moved faster and faster.

 

            “Is that _all,_ lovely Reader? You’d simply touch my body and play with my… with my _pretty_ hair?”

            “I-I wouldn’t… I just want to feel you, Sandra. It’s been years, you deserve so _badly_ to be held again.”

 

            That gave Sandra pause, and while her hand never slowed it's relentless pace, she backed up a little. “Why, Reader… how… how considerate of you. I was _hoping_ for something a little more risque, but that’s… a very sweet thing to say.”

            “What do you most miss,” you panted, voice shaky, “when it comes to being touched? Where -- where were you most sensitive?”

            Sandra gave a thoughtful hum. “I most liked being caressed here-” her other hand stroked your collarbone, “- here -” fingers running up and down your sternum, “- being held just so -” her phantom palm against your cheek, hard not to instinctively nuzzle against, “- and particularly here.” The clumsy sensation that must have been Sandra trying to kiss the back of your neck. “I quite enjoyed _all_ of those places when I was alive. Hmm, but you don’t seem as moved as I had hoped. Tell me, Reader,” she whispered against your ear, “where do you prefer to be touched~?”

 

            A shiver traveled up and down your spine, and it was hard to know if it was just you or Sandra’s hand glancing along your back. “Right there, Sandra, right against my ear. Just speak and breathe, _please._ ”

            “Ohoho, I might have known. Of course our lovely Reader enjoys _words_ ,” she hissed into your ear, the air from her words tickling you and pushing you dangerously close to the edge. You have to close your eyes and focus to keep from coming too soon.

            “S-sandra…”

            “Oh no, I don’t mind. So delicate, and sensitive, it makes _perrrr-_ fect sense that all it takes to get you worked up is words.” She threw her head back and laughed, loud and throaty. “Should I have even used my hands? Or would you have simply preferred if I described a picture for you? Me on my knees, chest out, your pants on the floor, with my… _pretty hair_ wild, messy, my lips and throat wrappes around your --”

            “Sandra! Fuck, I’m so close.”

            She bites her teeth right next to your ear, and _fuck_ , it’s the best noise you’ve ever heard. “Then by all means.  _Come for me, my Reader._ ”

 

            And you do. You assume it’s _very_ messy.

            When the stars fade from behind your eyes, you open them to find -- mercifully -- that you managed to only stain your own hand and clothing, easily fixed with a quick washing. You see Sandra sitting on the table, between her crystal and the Book of Rites, twirling her hand around her fingers.

 

            “Was it as good for you as it was for me, lovely Reader?”

 

            You could feel the heat coloring your cheeks, but smiled happily nonetheless. “I can’t thank you enough Sandra, really. I owe you one.”

            She smiled wickedly, apparently back to her usual sarcastic self. “Oh, Reader, I  think you shall come to owe me far more than that~. Fortunately for you, I am an exceedingly generous person: you may pay me back by continuing to win handily in every trial. Specifically the one after next.”

            You got to your feet, pulled up your pants, and tried to look as dignified as possible. “I will, of course. Thank you again for… helping me with this.”

            “Tch. You know, you really ought to speak with either of your ladies love. It might make things… a little less awkward.”

            “...You thrive on awkwardness, I wouldn't want to take that away from you.” She chuckled ruefully. “But maybe I will try to speak with the both of them. Later. MUCH later. Thank you again, Sandra.”

            “No, thank you, Reader. It was nice to feel… somewhat human again. Even if it was only for a short while.”

            You rubbed your chin, thinking carefully. “It wouldn't have to… I mean, if it makes you… happy… I'd be glad to, *ahem*, see you again?”

 

            A very long silence fell over the wagon. “I don't know, Reader. It wouldn't be… fulfilling for either of us.”

            You tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I thought you might like to try that thing with your mouth. Of course, if you're not up to the challenge…”

            Sandra leapt off the table,  rising to the obvious bait. “Ohoho, Reader. How very _base_ of you. I would take you right here and now if I thought you would last more than ten seconds against the full array of my womanly charms.”

            “Take me? Why, I thought we were just talking about you helping me purge my distractions. You're talking about this as though it were a romantic affair… _lovely Sandra_ ,” you said, mustering as much confidence and sarcasm to use her term of endearment against her.

 

            She flushed (which is something you just now learned that wraiths could do). “Oh! You -- why you little-- ! Fine! Ignore my blabbering, Reader. But know that both me and my _pretty hair_ shall be waiting here for you whenever you so require.” And without another word, she returned to the Crystal, leaving you alone in a naturally-lit, properly colored wagon, still somewhat soiled.

 

            You couldn't wait to see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> (hope you enjoyed! let me know how i can do better down below)


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